


Marks of weakness, marks of woe

by Bill_Longbow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Geeks, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) Lives, M/M, Nightmares, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers (2012), Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steve Rogers is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/pseuds/Bill_Longbow
Summary: There might’ve been a time when Tony longed to be on a team. To join in the sort of easy camaraderie he now witnessed whenever the coffee on his own floor had run out. To know there was a group of people who had his six, on the battlefield and off, but he's pretty sure the Avengers aren't that group.After the battle of New York the Avengers take up residence in the tower, but Tony tries his hardest to avoid them. They all made it clear enough they don't want anything from him other than to bankroll their outfit. And that's fine. More than fine. Absolutely perfect. If only Steve Rogers would play along and leave him the hell alone.Because Steve doesn't know he's being pulled by fate, and that the last person Tony wants to disappoint is his soulmate. So better hide and deflect than let him get close. Right?





	Marks of weakness, marks of woe

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for "Marks of Weakness, Marks of Woe" by Bill Longbow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823423) by [salable_mystic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/pseuds/salable_mystic). 



> Written for [this gorgeous art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823423/chapters/44667112/) by the lovely and talented [Salable_mystic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salable_mystic/). Go check out the link and shower them with love cause they made two additional arts for the fic!
> 
> A massive thank you to [Marie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/) who's comments while doing the beta gave me life!
> 
> The title comes from the poem London by William Blake.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, please leave a comment to let me know what you think!

 

_Steve can barely see the picture anymore, his hands are shaking so badly where they're gripping the paper tightly. It doesn't matter. The image is burned into his mind, branded onto the back of his eyes. Dust motes tickle his nose and for the first time since getting the serum he sneezes, like the image not only seared his hopes and dreams away, but unmade who he was entirely._

_It startles him into action. He shoves the picture into his back pocket and exits the storage room, almost taking a tumble over the box in which he found the picture, and exits in a hurry. Outside he stops, at a loss for what to do. It's obvious--_

_He shakes his head. He has never backed down before, he's not about to start now. With a newfound sense of purpose, he takes off into the corridor._

 

**********

 

“No can do, Capsicle,” Tony said nonchalantly, gripping the inside of his jeans pockets to keep himself from reaching out and pummel the smile off his co-team-leader’s face. Co-team-leader his ass. Everybody knew Tony was only here to supply everyone with everything they might ever need and to shovel bucket loads of money into whichever fund would keep the authorities off their backs after another mission spiraled out of control. Rogers was the absolute leader in anything but name, and Tony took a perverse pleasure in being as obstinate as possible. He didn’t miss how Rogers’ jaw clenched at Tony’s immediate refusal or how his hands twitched at the nickname. He really should’ve known better than to come up and ask if Tony wanted to join them on movie night. Tony didn’t participate in anything but the most mandatory of trainings, and even then he managed to come in late and leave early, shrugging and muttering something about SI.

There might’ve been a time when Tony longed to be on a team. To join in the sort of easy camaraderie he now witnessed whenever the coffee on his own floor had run out. To know there was a group of people who had his six, on the battlefield and off. He had been spoonfed stories about the Howling Commandos, of course. The Howlies, as his godmother had lovingly called them. Led by the incomparable Captain America himself. A being so Good and Right and Perfect it was a wonder he had put up with the likes of Howard, if you asked Tony, but Peggy had confirmed each and every story his father had told him, on those rare occasions where his eyes took on that dreamy glance and he forgot he was talking to Tony. Suffice it to say meeting mister _“there are guys worth ten of you”_ had been more than a disappointment. Glowy death stick of malice notwithstanding. Add to that Itsy _“Iron man yes, Tony Stark no”_ Bitsy, a demi-deranged demigod who only dropped in on occasion, and a brainwashed archer in the vents, and Tony had quickly noped out of the whole team thing. He did spend time with Bruce, but he would’ve even if the man was on another continent, he was just that inspiring. Tony had never expected for his fellow teammates to pull together and _heal_ for lack of a better word. By then it was too late to join though. He had established quite thoroughly he didn’t want anything to do with them, (even if there was this tightening in his stomach whenever he watched them interact nowadays), and everyone kept their distance. Everyone but the Captain.

He shrugged at Rogers who nodded and schooled his face into an expression one might call companionable. “Maybe next time?”  
  
“Who knows?” Tony answered and walked briskly towards where he was headed before Rogers ambushed him in the hallway. Which might’ve been the complete opposite direction come to think of it. Dealing with the Captain never failed to pull Tony off-kilter, and his first instinct was to run as fast and as far as was possible without actually running. He pulled open a door at random, glad he hadn’t chosen a supply closet to hide in, and leaned with his back against the door. He knew it was just superstition, but it was almost as if he could feel Rogers walking away. Probably towards the gym. Rogers seemed to spend a lot of time there whenever he had interacted with Tony.

Tony rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. There was no doubt in his mind there would come a time when Rogers would snap, take his team and leave, and the worst part was Tony didn’t know if he wanted that or not.

 

**********

 

Tony startled at the sudden absence of noise. He had been rocking his hips to Shakira, hips don’t lie, sue him, working on his old Camaro. It was a pet project. Something to get his hands dirty on and use some of his muscles after sitting hunched over for probably hours, debugging with Jarvis.

“What gives, J?”

“I’m sorry, sir, Captain Rogers is asking entrance to the workshop.”

Tony sighed. It had only been a matter of time before Rogers showed up. The bump-ins had been growing in number, despite Tony’s best efforts of using Jarvis to spy out a safe route to and from wherever his busy schedule was taking him. So much so that Tony had started to hate himself for not giving in to his eccentric billionaire side to incorporate several secret corridors and elevators into the design of the tower. Not that he had any illusions, St-- Rogers wouldn’t find him there eventually. Apparently the good Captain had deemed it necessary to start with phase two of _Bugging the Billionaire_.

Tony fruitlessly searched for a clean rag to wipe his hands on and settled on a semi clean one. “Go on, let him in. I know you won’t let me hide behind the couch.”

“I am inclined to let the Captain have his say in this instance.”

Tony huffed. Jarvis had politely reminded him it might be time to leave the lab after a work binge of about twenty hours, but there was too much pent up energy in his body to go to sleep yet, and neither spending time in the common areas or his penthouse were particularly enticing. So Camaro it was.

The doors opened with a hiss, and Tony steeled himself. With every encounter it was getting more difficult to maintain his mask of casual indifference and he wished Rogers would just give it a rest soon. Tough luck on that probably, Tony knew the stories of his perseverance. You didn’t survive the Great depression as ill as the man had been by giving up easily.

“Tony, hey,” St-- Rogers greeted him like they just ran into each other on accident. He was wearing clothes that actually fit today, Tony noticed, which was a small mercy. His stomach was more interested in the tray Rogers was carrying though, filled with assorted foods and all of them smelling _good_.

“Hey Spangles, fancy meeting you here. In my lab.” Tony smiled his fabled playboy smile and held out his hands to the side like the good showman that he was.

“Yeah, Jarvis told me I could find you here. I er, brought you food.” Steve actually held the tray a little forward to show it.

“Food.”

“Since you couldn’t make it to team dinner I saved you something.” More waving the tray.

Team dinner. Just the expression made Tony’s stomach turn with a mixture of imperious disgust and longing, and he hated Rogers for making him feel like that in his safe place.

“Gee, thanks, Cap, nothing makes a man feel special like leftovers.”

Tony saw his words had their intended effect, in the furrowing of Rogers’ brow, and the working of his jaw. This was when Rogers would give up and leave. Leave his workshop and destroy some more of Tony’s indestructible punching bags. For a moment he almost felt sorry for the man. Rogers didn’t _know_. He probably thought he was trying to reel Tony in because of his sense of team and no man left behind or something romantic and unrealistic like that. What he didn’t expect was for Rogers to carefully put the tray down on the nearest workbench and sit down next to it with a pleading look. “Eat. Please.”

Tony was so taken aback he took a seat at the bench and blinked at Rogers, who looked as surprised as he was, until he pushed the tray a little closer to Tony.

Tony was tempted to not touch the food out of childish stubbornness, as if eating meant losing this whatever it was he and Rogers were doing, but he vaguely remembered eating some berries this afternoon (or was it this morning?) and his stomach growled at the smell. He rolled his eyes, he had an image to maintain after all, but picked up the fork and dug in.

“So I know you don’t… enjoy being on the team,” Rogers said after Tony had a few bites, choosing his words carefully, and Tony winced as he chewed. He opted to look at his plate, where he speared a piece of sausage on his fork, instead of at the Captain. He didn’t think he could stomach one of his disappointed looks right now.

“So I was planning on excusing you from team trainings for the time being.”

This did make Tony look up in surprise, forgetting to chew for a moment as well. He couldn’t read Rogers’ face as he looked back at Tony with that calm self-assuredness that made Tony want to ~~kiss~~ punch him.

“Why?” After months of Rogers playing whack a mole with him was he finally giving up?

Rogers sighed and looked away, a movement that made him look tired and worn out, and it struck Tony how young the man actually was, for all his history.

“You can’t build a team without trust. And it’s more than evident in your every move on the battlefield, and the way you avoid us here, that you don’t trust us. You don’t trust us to have your back, you don’t trust me to make the right decisions, you don’t even trust us to behave ourselves in your home.”

Tony was too taken aback to counter it. His first reaction was to deny everything, if only out of habit, but he could hardly tell Rogers he had it wrong. Tony didn't trust himself.

“Forcing you into team exercises doesn’t help one bit.” Rogers ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I was hoping that if you spent time with the team you would maybe adjust your opinions, you know? But it’s clear it’s not working, quite the contrary.” The smile Rogers send him was small and sad, and Tony quickly ducked his head towards his plate again, pushing his food around. Every training Tony and him had provoked at least one clash of opinions which more often than not ended in them shouting at each other - no wonder Rogers didn’t want him there anymore.  

“So I was thinking we could start with training together, just the two of us?”

Tony choked on the rice he had shoveled into his mouth in a bid to avoid eye contact, and Rogers stood to slap him on the back and offer him the glass of juice that was also on the tray.

“You okay there, Tony?”

Coughing, Tony nodded, draining the glass in one go. This was the complete opposite of what he’d thought Rogers was going to offer. This was where he should’ve been kicked off the team, with the meal as some sort of conciliatory gesture. Rogers offering to train together only made a perverse kind of sense, in a masochistic way. Did he like being yelled at? It almost physically hurt Tony to be this close, wasn’t it the same for him?

“What kind of training?” Tony asked, scrambling to get back on top of this conversation. Only Rogers could make him lose his footing this completely.

“Sparring? In the suit and out of it? I’d also like to go over past battles with you to see if we can adjust our strategies to complement each other instead of…” Rogers waved an arm as he trailed off.

 _Instead of the complete shitshow of the last battle_ , where Tony had only accidentally managed to find the bomb some wannabe mad scientist had cooked up before it changed the populace of New York into ants. He had walked with a limp for days afterwards, not coming out of his workshop at all to hide it.

Tony nodded. Seemed he wasn’t in the clear. If only his Platypus would agree to take his place he could move cross country and financially support the team from the other coast without ever having to interact with them again.

“And er,” Rogers rubbed his neck and looked almost… shy? “I was hoping you might want to show me some of the knickknacks you’re working on? Cause, well, I _love_ all these technological wonders in this age and I’m trying to catch up, I have this list,” he patted the breast pocket of his shirt, “but there’s too much and well. You’re the futurist and all, I thought maybe you could help a centenarian out?”

For the third time within the span of half an hour Rogers had Tony blinking at him in surprise.

“You have an actual list on paper there, Cap? In my home? That’s unacceptable. Didn’t they issue you with a StarkPhone back at SHIELD? I think I’ve got a spare one here somewhere.” Tony rolled away in his chair to a bench on the opposite side of the room and started rummaging in his drawers until he came up with one of his new prototypes.

He was reeling from the turn of events. There was no way Tony could get out from under this without pushing Rogers out of the tower and out of his life, and somehow the prospect didn’t seem that attractive anymore. He would leave a gaping hole of empty, something Tony didn’t think he would be able to get used to again. And then there was the way Rogers had asked, which was so… so genuine. So uncaptain-y.

“Shame on whoever was in charge of being your guide to the 21st century, seriously, Cap, I need a name so I can send them a strongly worded message.” He couldn’t stall anymore, so he took the phone and rolled back to where Rogers was sitting, waiting patiently.

“I think it was agent Smith or Jones or something like that,” Rogers said, looking amused. “You can't blame them entirely, I think they quit their job before we got to mobile devices.”

It was the way the Captain looked that made Tony snort despite himself, smug and full of mischief, a look he had never thought he'd see on that holier than thou face.

“I'll trade you this for that story,” Tony heard himself say as he pushed the mobile over to Rogers, surprised he actually wanted to know.

Rogers grinned in answer, turned on the device and snapped a shot of Tony. “Let's just say all these new fangled ideas went straight over my head.”

“You trolled them,” Tony said in disbelief. “My life is a lie. You're supposed to be the pinnacle of truth and rightfulness…”

Rogers only shrugged with a pleased smile, and looked like innocence incarnated again when he stood and put the phone in his back pocket.

“Thank you, Tony, I’ll ask Jarvis to schedule us a sparring session.”

“Yeah… you do that,” Tony muttered and took another bite as he watched Rogers walk out of his shop, unsure what had just happened.

 

**********

 

Tony touched the gnarled flesh of the scars around the arc reactor as he looked at himself in the mirror. He hated them. He hated the scars; he hated the reactor. He knew he shouldn’t, he knew he should be grateful he was alive, and he was, but of all the places the shrapnel could've hit, it had to be his chest.

 

**********

 

“Hope you're ready to get your spangled ass kicked.”

Rogers was already waiting for him in the ring, looking as pristine as always in a white shirt and blue boxers, and Tony wondered if the serum somehow prevented him from attracting stains.

“Better put your money where your mouth is, Stark,” Rogers grinned as he feigned a few jabs, and Tony quickly looked away to put his bag onto one of the benches against the wall. He wasn't here to joke around. He was here to-- He didn't exactly know what the hell he was doing here, if he was honest with himself. Appease the captain so he would get off his back for the rest of the week? Or see if he'd been wrong about him and had uselessly denied himself?

“I'll take it easy on you, old timer,” Tony said as he climbed into the ring.

“Sure,” Rogers replied and before Tony had even turned around to face him he was lying on his back looking at the ceiling. He blinked a few times in surprise before sitting up with a frown.

“You cheat! You’re a cheating cheater!” He pointed at Rogers who shrugged without any kind of remorse, but did hold out a hand to help him up.

Well. Two could play _this_ game. Tony took the offered hand, but instead of pulling himself all the way up, he hooked his leg behind Rogers’ knee and used the combined force of the movement and his weight to force the leg to bend while he flung himself onto Rogers’ back.

The super soldier peeled him off easily, but instead of initiating another attack he stepped back with his hands raised, a large grin on his face. “Peggy trained you!”

Tony was surprised Rogers noticed, but didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction. Not in the least because of the bitter taste thinking about the whirlwind romance between the captain and the agent always left him with, which was wholly unfair but so was life.

“Duh, I was her godson. Started training after my first kidnapping.” Tony rotated his torso left and right. He probably should’ve started with a warming up, he was going to feel this tomorrow.

“When was that?”

“Just after my fourth birthday,” Tony shrugged and took on a fighting stance. It wasn’t his worst kidnapping by far, didn’t even rank in the top ten, but the Captain looked a combination of angry and sick, and Tony didn’t know how to feel about that. “C’mon, Capsicle, I got a business to run,” he taunted him, feigning an attack to his left side, but dropping down in a crouch to try and swipe Rogers’ legs from under him.

The soldier moved fast, much too fast for Tony, and he found himself on his back staring at the ceiling again and again and again, until after what he estimated was twenty hours of fighting he stayed down, breathing heavily.

“You did well,” St-- Rogers complimented him, and held out his hand for Tony to take again.

“I deliberately held back,” Tony panted, but took the offered hand to sit up.

“That’s very considerate,” St-- Rogers grinned and rolled a bottle of water Tony’s way, from which he drank gratefully. He felt at a loss for what to say now that the sparring was over, and the other man looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

“So,” Rogers started, but Tony cut him off before he could start about Peggy or the kidnappings or teamspirit or some other unsavoury thing.

“Same time next week, Cap?”

Tony watched Rogers’ shoulders sag and didn’t that hurt more than the beating he had just gotten.

“Sure thing.”

Tony scrambled onto his feet, saluted Rogers with his bottle and hurried to where he had put his bag.

“Hey Tony?” Rogers called out just when he was out of the door and safe to hide. He forced a smile onto his face when he turned around to face the captain again. “Hmm?”

“Maybe you can call me Steve?”

It wasn’t an order. It wasn’t even a question, really. A request. Rogers looked small in the middle of the giant gym. Young. And the look he gave Tony was more resigned than hopeful, like he knew Tony would never call him by his first name, but he had to try anyway, because he was Steve Rogers and never backed down. It struck Tony that he didn’t want to hurt this man. At all. Quite the contrary, but he didn’t know how to go about it. Using his name could be a start.

“Sure,” he nodded. “Steve.” The smile Steve gave him made Tony feel light and… and happy and it was such a foreign thing he hurried away to stew in the shower of his penthouse.

 

**********

 

 _As he walks through the hallway Steve's courage almost fails him, the picture in his back pocket feels like it burns through the fabric, searing his skin. There has to be a good explanation. There just_ has _to be. Tony wouldn't withhold something like this from him, would he? They are friends. Good friends. Even growing into something more, or so Steve thought up until now. They’re taking it slow, but there wasn't another way to interpret the glances, the casual touching, the way he had never felt so at home and at ease with anyone before, was there?_

_Guess he was wrong._

 

**********

 

A week later, Jarvis informed him of another sparring appointment with the Captain. Steve. It was only marginally less uncomfortable than the last time, but somehow they made it work. The way Steve had no qualms at all about tricking him and fighting dirty, grinning unabashedly when he floored Tony yet again, should have been infuriating, but it wasn’t. It was fun, and it became even more fun when he learned to use those same tricks back. Tony couldn’t deny he liked the way Ro-- _Steve_ laughed out loud when he did his silly victory dance after he finally landed a blow, and he might’ve exaggerated his movements a tiny bit because of it.

 

*************

  
Tony turned his glass round and round in his hand, only taking a sip every seventh rotation. It was a mindless game, something to focus on instead of the clamour in his head. He liked the tinkling of the ice against the glass. A sound so soft and vulnerable it couldn’t be a figment of his nightmares. Some nights it was the endless void of space, sometimes the sand and cold of a dark cave. He was always some version of trapped. Trapped in his suit, trapped in a cave, trapped in his body with his godfather sneering down at him. It was a merry go round of horrors his brain could pick and choose from each night.

He leaned his head against the wall. If he stretched his legs his feet could just touch the glass of his floor to ceiling window. Two of his favourite things of the tower. The huge expanse of glass that ensured he never felt enclosed, and the odd shapes of the spaces that reminded him of his Nonna’s home. He had found this nook on accident, wandering around the tower when the silence of the penthouse became oppressive, but he couldn’t push himself to get to work downstairs yet.

Footsteps came closer from the corridor adjacent to the common sitting room and Tony kept himself as still as possible, cursing himself for choosing to crash on the common floor. He was almost invisible in his spot and he waited for whoever it was to go on their merry way, but the footsteps came closer until Steve emerged around the corner. The soldier startled badly enough when he saw Tony that he sloshed some of his drink over his hand.

“Tony?” He asked as he wiped his hand on his shirt.

Steve must've been really out of it to be this unaware of his surroundings. Tony knew how that felt, so instead of leaving like he wanted to he patted the ground beside him.

When Steve sat next to him he touched his glass against Steve's and took a sip. Steve looked almost guilty down into the amber liquid in his glass, which didn't hold ice cubes like Tony's.

“I try to pretend it helps me sleep,” he admitted quietly, not meeting Tony's eye as he finally took a sip.

Tony hummed and they watched the city below in silence, sipping in turn. It felt less awkward than it should. Tony found he liked having Steve's solid presence next to him, and in the quiet darkness he could almost pretend Steve wouldn't jerk away if Tony shifted and leaned his weight against him.

“Can't see Brooklyn from my rooms,” Steve nodded when his drink was almost done. Tony peered and saw Brooklyn bridge was just visible in the distance, decked out like a Christmas tree. “Sometimes when I wake up at night I don't know if I'm alive or dead or frozen.” Steve took a final sip and quietly put his empty glass down next to him on the floor. “I think I dreamed when I was in the ice. I think once in a while I woke up enough to dream I was frozen.”

Tony tried to imagine what that must've been like, triggering his own memories. The cave had always been cold, but at least he'd had Yinsen to lie against, sharing the ratty blankets the lady that cooked brought them one day. How lonely Steve must've been, how scared. He reached out to put his hand on Steve's arm. “You're alive.”

The smile Steve gave him in thanks was so sad Tony knew it would add to the long list of things that haunted his nights.

 

**********

 

“So, I’ve been reading all of Asimov’s books, but I don’t think he truly understood the nature of artificial intelligence,” Steve said seconds after entering the workshop, brandishing a book like he needed to prove he could actually read.

Tony looked up from his soldering and flipped his magnifying goggles onto his forehead. “First, paper books, really? Don’t you have a StarkPad? Doesn’t he have a StarkPad, Jarvis? Hook the good Captain up will you? Full access to my library files, books, music, movies, you know the drill.”

“Certainly, sir, I’m not sure how the Captain has survived until now.”

“I’m betting a combination of stubborn and spite, now shush you,” Tony answered his AI, then turned back to Steve. “Second. Why do you think so?” Tony was surprised Steve had chosen Asimov as reading material. He had pegged him as more of a Steinbeck type.

“Well,” Steve leaned back against the nearest workbench, folding and unfolding the book in his ridiculously large hands in front of him. If the motion was supposed to hide Steve’s nerves the attempt failed miserably, even if Tony didn’t understand what _he_ had to be nervous about. If he could just be content with letting Tony be nobody would have to feel nervous or obligated to push off their goggles and make polite conversation.

“The AIs in his books stay limited to their programming? Like, they give the impression that they learn, and they do learn, but their actions stay purely logical,” Steve said, frowning as he spoke. “But Jarvis isn’t anything like that.”

“Are you accusing me of being illogical, Captain?” Jarvis answered before Tony could say anything.

“No!” Steve blushed an amazing shade of red, all the way to his neck and the tips of his ears and that was an image Tony didn’t need to haunt him and his sad morning jerks in the shower.

“I didn’t mean that at all! I just, well, I mean, you’re _more_ than that,” Steve added in a rush, scrambling for words.

“I’m sorry, I was merely teasing you a bit. Thank you for the compliment.”

“Jarvis, I speak from the bottom of my heart when I say I’m thankful every day you don’t go Skynet on us,” Tony grinned at one of Jarvis’ cameras.  
  
“Managing one life is exhausting enough as it is, sir,” Jarvis replied dryly, which startled a laugh out of Steve.

“See. That there is exactly what I mean. A sense of humour is anything but logical. You have personality,” Steve pointed and nodded at one of Jarvis’ cameras.

“You’re really interested in this stuff, aren’t you?” Tony had half thought this to be some sort of ruse, a way Steve was using to worm his way into Tony’s workshop, but the way he engaged with Jarvis, and how he was trying to understand how he worked made Tony doubt his initial assessment.

“Gosh yes. We used to save up to buy a zine once in a while. I had a phase where I filled every scrap of paper with Martians and rockets and things…” Steve trailed off. He smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck, not quite meeting Tony's eyes like he hadn't planned on admitting as much.

“Dum-E! Where are you?” Tony yelled behind him. “Have you met Dum-E yet? He's my first try at an AI.”

Tony watched Steve's face intently when Dum-E came trundling towards them, beeping inquisitively. He saw the soldier's face morph from a frown into understanding when his eyes fell onto Dum-E’s name on his strut, into an expression of pure joy when Dum-E was close enough to open his pincer to shake Steve's hand. Tony watched avidly as Steve did so without hesitation. A huge grin transformed his already handsome face into something that transcended beauty, and Tony couldn't remember why he had been fighting so hard to keep this man at arm's length. He smiled helplessly as Steve engaged with Dum-E like he would a human child, walking with him to his corner where he kept his favourite ball, admiring his drawings. When their eyes met Steve’s smile grew even wider and Tony knew he was lost.

 

**********

 

“So tell me about Star Trek,” Steve said with his mouth full of chips. Whoever thought Captain America had impeccable manners was sorely mistaken. The man ate like a kid from the Depression-era, stuffing his face with whatever was in front of him without properly chewing. Or swallowing before talking. Just one of the things that should be annoying but actually endeared him to Tony. These were the details Howard neglected to mention, the things that made him a person instead of _The Captain_.

“How come the jedi don’t cooperate with the Federation?”  
  
And there was another one. Steve Rogers was a troll of epic proportions and Tony never knew when he was playing up his knowledge gap or genuinely didn’t know.

“You’re ready for Spaceballs,” Tony declared, and from the glint in Steve’s eye Tony surmised he knew exactly what Tony was talking about.

 

**********

 

It became a thing. A _Steve and Tony_ thing. Watching movies together on his ratty old workshop couch. Until after a night of binge-watching the Alien movies Tony’s back hurt enough that he couldn’t hide it the next day their movie nights moved to the penthouse movie theatre.

The whole atmosphere could’ve been date-like, but Steve always kept his distance. Never letting his knee fall against Tony’s, never groping him instead of the popcorn bowl. A perfect gentleman, if not for the way he yelled at the screen at pivotal moments.

Tony didn't know how to feel about this. On the one hand it felt safe. He could just enjoy the movie without having to worry about how to act and it made him relax in a way he never achieved elsewhere. On the other his attraction to Steve grew with every second they spent together and it became harder and harder for Tony to keep his hands to himself.

He didn't understand why it wasn't the same for Steve, but maybe the pull didn’t exist, maybe it was all in Tony's head.

The movies led to visiting restaurants, led to museum outings, led to taking the jet to see sights a kid from Brooklyn had never dreamed to see. Tony for his part never thought he could like doing nothing in the middle of nowhere, but watching Steve draw lake Ontario at sunset gave him a peace of mind he only got when he zoned out in the middle of a project.

Never once in these months did Steve pressure him to come back to team practices or dinners or movie nights, but damn him if his tactic didn’t work. Steve’s whoop of triumph over the comms when Tony threw him right at the baddy of the week in a move they had been practicing made Tony grin wide enough he was glad it was invisible behind the faceplate. He tried to pretend he wasn’t touched by the Widow’s tiny nod of approval or Barton’s fist pump and thumbs up, but it was no use. Steve had battered his stubborn, thick skull against Tony’s door long enough for him to open up and now he couldn’t hold anyone out anymore.

He didn’t mind when one by one others joined in on their movie nights; didn’t pretend he was in lock down when Barton came down to talk about boobytrapping the hallways as a prank; didn’t turn around to get his coffee elsewhere if he spotted the Widow in the common area kitchen; until at some point he started joining their training sessions of his own volition. No one said a thing. Just welcomed him like he never stopped going in the first place, and this careful indifference helped a load to calm his nerves. Even if they did object, Steve’s smile and soft “welcome back, Shellhead,” were all that mattered.

 

**********

_Steve stops in front of the study. Howard’s study that hides the entrance to Howard’s old lab. He can’t help but wonder what role Tony’s father has played in all of this. He knows Howard changed after Steve went down. How would he have reacted to a son with this mark?_

 

**********

 

It would've been perfect. It should've been perfect, but Tony's secret weighted heavier on his conscience with every second Steve spent playing with Dum-E or bantering with Jarvis, with every soft smile over a cup of coffee, with every inch Steve sat closer to him on movie nights.

Where Tony first couldn't bear the thought of having Steve close, now he couldn't imagine what it would be like when the man turned away once he learned what Tony had kept from him. He knew exactly how Steve would look at him if he told him now. His expression a mixture of disbelief, sadness and disappointment.  

Tony couldn't do it. He’d resolve to come clean a thousand times in a thousand different ways, but as soon as Steve smiled that hopeful smile all words fled Tony's head and he couldn’t help but smile back.

 

*************

 

“Look, if you’re hellbent on reading things on paper, then I’ll give you paper,” Tony groused good naturedly as he went ahead of Steve through the corridor and away from the movie room. Watching _The Shining_ had resulted in an argument about whether the book was better than the movie, which had led to an argument about books being better than e-readers. Tony suspected Steve just liked arguing for the sake of arguing, but he couldn’t deny real paper books had a certain charm their digital counterparts lacked. Besides, if he could make anyone happy with the darn things it should be Steve.

“I love how you make paper sound like a dirty word,” Steve joked and bumped into Tony a little. “When I was little it was a precious commodity. I saved up every scrap I could find.”

Tony looked up at Steve to try and gauge his mood, which should be easier with someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, but Steve was surprisingly good at hiding how he felt.

“Please tell me you had toilet paper when you were young. I don’t think I can stand the visual of a tiny you being torn between a clean ass or space to doodle.”

Steve laughed out loud, a full sound that never failed to make Tony feel like he accomplished something great. “I won’t burst your bubble then,” he answered amicably and clapped Tony on the shoulder.

They arrived at a nondescript door, and Tony opened it with a flourish. “Tada.”

The door opened onto a library. Three walls were lined with books, with some free standing shelves dividing the space into smaller parts. There were several couches and lazy chairs scattered throughout the room, a few clustered around the fireplace. It was a nice space, tastefully decorated but still cosy. If it didn’t remind him so much of his mom Tony might actually spend time here. As it was he had admired the space when it was first built, knowing his mom’s books had a good home, but had ignored it ever since.

“Tony, this is…” Steve trailed off as he walked into the room, trailing his fingers across the backs of several books before walking to another shelf.

“You can use it whenever,” Tony said. He kept his hands in his jeans pockets and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet as he watched Steve. Being here made him antsy but he tried to hide it. He was glad the library was finally going to be put to good use, he knew Steve would love these books as much as his mom had.

“Tony,” Steve started again. He looked like a kid in a candy shop, unable to keep his eyes off the shelves, and Tony felt himself relax. “Will you stay?”

The request surprised Tony more than it should have, considering they spent more and more time together but nowhere in his plan to show Steve the library had he thought that it would entail him being there as well.

“Sure,” he heard himself say though, because who was he to deny Steve anything? It might be cathartic.

 

To his surprise Tony was able to relax enough to work. As long as he had Jarvis to throw up the visuals for him he could do it anywhere, and soon he found himself lost in the schematics of a new watch. Steve sat next to him on the couch, getting up on occasion to get more books to add to his ever growing pile.

“Look what I found,” Steve came walking back, and Tony saw he had a paper box in his hands. “Found it behind a fancy edition of _The Lord of the Rings_.”

Tony pushed the schematics to the side as he felt the couch dip again with Steve’s weight and he nodded at Steve to open the box he had put on the ground at his feet. He had no clue this thing even existed, and his curiosity was piqued.

When Steve removed the lid they saw it was filled with papers and newspaper clippings. He sidled closer to Steve and took the first out of the box. It was an article about Tony building Dum-E, the picture showed Tony sitting awkwardly but proud at his base.

“I didn’t know Dum-E was that old,” Steve whispered, and Tony smiled.

“Yeah, he’ll be thirty this year. Still a doofus though.”

Steve bumped Tony sideways. “Hey, be nice to your kids.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Jarvis piped up. “It’s good to know _someone_ is on our side.”

“Hey, no dessert for you young man,” Tony grinned and pushed Steve back, which was like pushing a wall, but warmer and much more appealing to touch. He picked up the next thing from the box, which was another newspaper clipping, this one commending Tony on being the youngest to ever be admitted to MIT.

“I think Jarvis collected these, original Jarvis,” Tony said and put the article down to peer in the box again. Next came a series of awards and diplomas. He flipped through them, they ranged from science fairs to class reports. It seemed Jarvis saved every scrap of paper dedicated to Tony’s successes in here.

“My Lord, what is this?” Steve exclaimed next to him as Tony rifled through the stack. Tony looked up to see Steve holding up a [picture ](http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/robert-downey-jr/images/35566914/title/young-downey-photo)of him in arguably not even his worst choice of outfit over the years. “You look adorable!”

 “I did not, it was high fashion!” Tony huffed, indignant.

“You look like you were caught unaware,” Steve snickered, and it made Tony reach out to grab the picture from him, but Steve easily held it out of reach.

“Give it here, you uncultured lout.” Tony made another swipe at the picture, but Steve held out his other arm to keep Tony away. It made Tony climb up and over the extended limb and Steve toppled sideways in laughter. Tony made use of the distraction to grab the photograph from his unresisting fingers.

“Ha!” He exclaimed in victory, and looked down at Steve. Somehow he had neglected to notice he had climbed on top of the soldier and was half leaning on, half straddling his chest, and Steve’s face was very close. Close enough to notice the perfect blue of his eyes was actually speckled with green, close enough to feel Steve’s breath against his own lips. Steve’s eyes were locked on Tony’s and the moment stretched out between them like hot taffy.

Neither of them moved, too scared to ruin this one perfect point in time, but somehow the distance between them diminished until all Tony had to do was lean forward just a tiny bit--

Alarms sounded a call to assemble throughout the top floors, and Tony sprang up so fast he nearly tripped over the box still on the ground near the couch. Steve caught him, his hands warm on Tony’s arms, and for a second they just stood there, a remnant of the spell they were under just now still tangible.

Until Steve broke out in a grin. “Race you.” He started running before Tony could even move.

“Cheating cheater who cheats,” Tony yelled and ran after him.

 

Later, when they were sitting together, quietly sipping their drinks, Steve turned to Tony.

“I don’t have anything from before.”

Tony knew what he meant. The box of things Jarvis had carefully collected and preserved was like a treasure find, a small connection to a man who he had loved dearly.

He knew Howard had collected anything and everything regarding Steve Rogers. Everything he could find had gone into an archive that was strictly forbidden for Tony to peruse. Tony had never bothered to clear out the old Stark mansion upstate. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone else living there, nor would he ever make it his home again. Better preserve it like it had been, a beautiful front but hollow inside.

“I can help.”

 

*************

 

 _At the bottom of the stairs Steve halts to take in the sight in front of him. Tony has stripped to his undershirt and he is pulling apart some machine Steve doesn't know the name or function of. It reminds him of the very first time he stepped into Tony's workshop, a peace offering in the shape of food in his hands. How nervous he had been. How at wit’s end. He_ knew _they could have a good thing, a good connection, if only he managed to push the right buttons. Now he understands why it had been so important to him to get on Tony's good side. Now he understands why there had always been this pull…_

_He knocks as he enters the workshop, different from Tony's in its austerity. When Tony looks up and sees him he greets Steve with a grin, but it doesn't spark its usual joy. Instead Steve squares his jaw and pulls out the[photograph](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823423/chapters/44667112). _

 

 

 ************

 

Tony frowns at the lack of a response. Over the months he’s grown used to Steve smiling back at him, no matter the time or location. He raises his eyebrows in question but he can sense what’s wrong even before Steve pulls out an old black and white photograph.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice is careful. Clipped. Like how it sounded when they first met. When Steve still kept his cards close to his chest and didn't allow himself to feel any emotion, much less show them.

Here was the other shoe, dropping.

Tony suddenly feels faint. Too hot and too cold, a buzzing loud enough in his ears to drown out the sound of Steve stepping closer. In a daze he watches Steve put down the photograph on a bench and pull off his shirt. In the middle of his chest is a perfect rendition of Tony’s AI son. A complex pattern of lines, swirling out from a dense centre into a logarithmic spiral.

“[Jarvis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823423/chapters/44667160),” Tony whispers.

“You knew?” Steve asks. His face is carefully neutral, but his hands betray him. He can’t keep them still, clenching and unclenching them at his sides.

Tony nods once and casts his eyes down. He can’t stand to look at Steve, doesn’t want to see him hurt.

“Why?” Steve sounds small now and Tony cringes. Steve should never sound like this, and to know he’s the cause of it hurts like a physical ache.

Slowly, mechanically, Tony opens the buttons of his shirt and lets it fall to the ground. He finds the edge of the fake skin and pulls, wincing when it catches on some chest hairs. He avoids Steve’s gaze as he strips the polymer away until his chest is bare and the reactor and scars are on display. Only Rhodey and Pepper have ever seen him like this. “ _And Obie”_ , a mean voice whispers in the back of his head. Nobody knows about the reactor. Nobody knows he lost his soulmark.

Steve emits a broken sob, which finally makes Tony look up. Steve has one hand outstretched like he wants to to touch, one hand over his mouth to keep it from making more sounds.

“Thought they’d broken more than my chest bone,” Tony shrugs with one shoulder, looking away again. He doesn’t want Steve’s pity. He’s over it. He can sleep every other night now. Almost.

“ _Tony_.” In three large strides Steve’s there and he’s enveloped in Steve’s huge arms, pressed against his perfect chest, and Tony doesn’t understand what’s happening other than that he craved this contact more than anything for most of his life. There’s no magical feeling, no soulbond zinging to life, no connection slotting into place.

It’s just Steve and him and a feeling of _home_.

He’s broken but Steve doesn’t care and isn’t that the greatest gift?

Tentatively, he raises his arms to hug Steve back. Steve exhales and pulls him even closer burying his face in Tony’s neck. It hurts his chest, but it’s the best kind of hurt, because it’s _Steve_ and he’s _hugging_ him.

“I thought it was a seashell,” Steve whispers against Tony’s skin and starts laughing. He keeps his hold on Tony as the laughter ripples through him, and Tony can’t help but grin as well.

He pulls back, though, he has to know. He has to poke the stick in the wound. “You don’t mind?” Things never work out for him.

Steve shrugs. “I almost died. _You_ almost died. But we’re here now. Who cares about anything else?”

It can be that easy, if only they let it.

Steve drops his arms and takes hold of Tony’s hand. He can’t keep his eyes of his chest and Tony can’t blame him. It’s hideous. “I was…” Steve starts and frowns, taking a deep breath like he steels himself. “I want to be more than just friends. I want to try for more.” Steve’s posture is firm, self-assured, but his eyes reveal how uncertain he is. Unsure but hopeful. “I want you to be more.”

How do you say no to that?

You can’t, but Tony’s not sure he can say yes either yet. He’s been hurt too often, too severe. Voicing out loud what he wants only leads to hurt.

He settles for the next best thing. He raises himself on his tiptoes and puts one hand on Steve’s shoulder. He notices how Steve holds perfectly still, tension coiled tight in his muscles as he looks at Tony with that hopeful half smile of his. Tony’s gaze moves from Steve’s eyes to his mouth and he places a soft kiss to the upturned corner.

“ _Tony_.” It’s a whisper. A caress. A plea.

Steve releases Tony’s hand so he can wrap his arms around him again as he nuzzles Tony’s cheek, afraid to overstep. He’s leaving the ball in Tony’s court, but that’s okay. Tony feels bolder now, this is familiar territory. Except that it isn’t. When Tony turns his head to capture Steve’s mouth into a kiss again Steve’s lips feel softer than any did before him. Steve’s arms around Tony make him feel safe in a way he never experienced before. Steve holds him like he means something, like he’s precious.

Steve radiates _love_ , and somehow, deep within Tony, something resonates with that. As their lips meet and they drink in the smell and feel of each other that love seems to bounce back and forth between them until it grows and grows and takes up his whole being and Tony doesn’t know where he ends and Steve begins.

He smiles against Steve’s lips.

_Not broken after all!_

Steve returns the smile and happiness reverberates between them. They’re not kissing anymore, they can’t when their lips are stretched wide in giddy grins.

“Wow.” A really inadequate summary of what just happened, but who cares when Steve nods emphatically.

“That is…”

“Hmh.”

“Just…”

“Yeah.”

“Can we?”

“God yes”

 

More kissing. For real this time, with tongues and teeth and Steve putting his super strength to good use by lifting Tony off his feet and by golly is Tony on board with _that_. His frustrations and desires of the last months echo with Steve’s until they’re both thrumming with want.

This is not the place to do this though. This is Howard's territory and having sex with Steve Rogers to stick it to Howard hasn't been part of his frustrated fantasies since 1991. Reluctantly, Tony pulls back, kissing Steve’s nose when he follows Tony's mouth.

"Let's go home."

 

**Epilogue**

 

"Tony…" Steve's voice is little more than a whine, and Tony glances behind him with a smirk to see Steve blushing a deep red.

"You like it?" He teases. Even after a year of being together, of being _bonded_ , Tony still can't get enough of Steve's blush.

"Hnng," Steve answers. Tony might be wearing Steve's favourite underwear to accentuate his surprise: a tattoo of Steve's shield on his lower back, right above the swell of his ass.

“I wanted to wear your [mark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823423/chapters/44667172),” Tony clarifies, a bit unsure, as he lets go of the hem of his shirt and turns around. Steve’s face softens in that way that’s reserved solely for him and never fails to make him feel all gooey inside.

“I love wearing yours,” Steve smiles and holds out his hand to pull Tony into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” he whispers into Tony’s hair.

‘Soulmate.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://bill-longbow.tumblr.com) or join us on the 16+ [ Stuckony discord server ](https://discord.gg/jtXcc3n) for all things Tony, Bucky and Steve!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for "Marks of Weakness, Marks of Woe" by Bill Longbow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823423) by [salable_mystic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/pseuds/salable_mystic)




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